


For Auld Lang Syne

by foramomentonly



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:35:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22321777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foramomentonly/pseuds/foramomentonly
Summary: New Year's Day ficlet
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 22
Kudos: 75





	For Auld Lang Syne

Michael shuffles out of Isobel’s guest room on New Year’s Day and pads groggily downstairs, following the scent of freshly brewed coffee. _The good stuff_. He expects to find Isobel sipping coffee at the kitchen table, her casual, but effortlessly chic look perfectly curated to shame the rest of their disheveled, hungover asses. Isobel had invited everyone over for a quiet, elegant New Year’s Eve soriee. He and Liz—perfectly matched partners in mayhem as well as in scientific research and discovery, as it turns out—had turned it into a drunken rager. Secrets were revealed, grievances were aired, but they’d somehow rung in the New Year with arms draped heavily on shoulders, sloppy cheek kisses, and even sloppier declarations of eternal love.

Which is why Michael is surprised to walk into Isobel’s unexpectedly cozy kitchen to find Alex standing at the sink, elbow-deep in sudsy water, drying rack beside him half-full of Isobel’s boho dish set.

Alex glances over his shoulder at Michael’s soft _oh!_ and smiles at him.

Defying the expectations of their friends, they had avoided a drunken throwdown the night before, chatting casually, if briefly throughout the night. They’ve already torn into one another a hundred times over, fueled on occasion by alcohol. They’ve used words like teeth to gnaw at old wounds and tear apart tender flesh. Their truths still float unspoken between them, but time and proximity have taught them how to treat each other like there might just be a tomorrow after all.

“Hey,” Alex says easily. “Sleep well?”

Michael smiles in return, moving farther into the kitchen.

“Ugh, did anybody?” He points to the half-empty carafe of rich, dark liquid on the table. “You make that?”

Alex nods.

“You still make coffee stronger than jet fuel?”

Alex shoots him a devilish grin and nods again.

“Bless you,” Michael sighs, pressing his palms together and half bowing toward Alex. He grabs a mug and pulls the nearest chair out with his mind, dropping heavily into it and pouring himself a cup. They’re both silent for a few minutes, Michael guzzling his coffee and Alex scrubbing a particularly crusty serving platter.

“You trying to avoid Isobel’s wrath?” Michael finally asks, gesturing towards Alex’s work with his now half-empty cup. Alex huffs a laugh.

“I just thought I’d make clean up a little easier for her and load the dishwasher,” he says. “Turns out she has no dishwasher, and ninety percent of her stuff isn’t dishwasher safe anyway.”

He shrugs as best he can while rinsing out a champagne flute.

“Yeah, she used to have one,” Michael replies. “A dishwasher, I mean. But me and Max and fucking Noah kept putting her fancy dishes in it, so she made me take it out and install a custom wine fridge.”

Alex laughs, and Michael smiles at the sound. He drains his cup and rises, moving to stand next to Alex at the sink.

“Here,” he says. “I’ll dry. I know where everything goes, anyway.”

Alex hums in response, reaching to take Michael’s dirty mug out of his hands.

“Never thought of you as the domestic type,” he teases. Michael shrugs, a little self conscious.

“I like to cook, actually,” he says. “No room to in the Airstream and Isobel can’t cook for shit, so she lets me use her kitchen.”

“Did you make the food we ate last night?” Alex asks, hesitant.

“Fuck, no,” Michael snorts. “I like comfort food. Isobel had the thing last night catered.”

Alex sighs in what Michael interprets as relief. He remembers Alex picking politely at his plate at dinner, but mostly eating a lot of rolls.

“I was actually thinking of asking Liz’s dad if he needs some help at the diner,” Michael admits, eyes fixed on the plate he’s drying. He feels more than sees Alex turn towards him. “It’s been slow at the junkyard and I’ve had way too much time on my hands to fall back into, uh, _bad habits_.”

Alex has been the unwitting witness of Michael’s bad habits, scraping him off the floor of The Wild Pony or fielding phone calls and voicemails that prick like barbed wire and leave a million tiny cuts. He’s also been the impetus of of them, on days when dark shadows cloud his brain and he can’t seem to see or care who’s reaching out to him.

“I think that’s really great,” Alex says softly. “You should mention it to Liz. Let her work on Arturo a little before you go in.”

“Yeah, I will,” Michael says, shelving the final plate as Alex drains the sink. Without the easy routine of a shared task, they stand awkwardly together, the silence heavy between them.

“I’m, uh, I’m starting therapy next week at the VA,” Alex says, offering a piece of his own vulnerability to Michael in a hesitant exchange.  
“Yeah?” Michael asks. “Well, look at us.”

And it’s not midnight, it’s not even close to fixed between them, but like lost parts of a whole, like the pieces of Michael’s incomplete ship they slide together, warm lips pressing lightly, then more insistently as mouths open and small breathes of pleasure escape. The kiss is slow and easy, full of _later_ , _soon_ , _tomorrow_. They pull apart, step back easily, and offer soft smiles.

“Happy New Year, Guerin.”

“Happy New Year, Private.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to the Malex fandom and rusty at writing, clearly. Thanks for reading!


End file.
